


Nothing Better.

by ForReasonsUnknown (orphan_account)



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M, Pre-film, Slice of Life, but only slight! This is mostly happy, during WW2, references to period typical homophobia (but only if you squint), slight angst, these two are so in love oh myyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ForReasonsUnknown
Summary: "I won't make you a promise I cannae definitely keep," Collins says after a long moment of silence. "That means nothin' an' I need this to mean somethin', Farrier."





	Nothing Better.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is strangley happy for me! (Are y'all impressed?) This doesn't align with my series on these two, as it wasn't inspired by any song, so it's being kept separate from those. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! Kudos and comments are, as always, much appreciated!
> 
> Much love x

Farrier watches the crumbled ash from the end of his cigarette fall, getting caught up for a brief moment in a gentle breeze before disappearing into the dry grass on which he's sat. Collins tuts from beside him, but makes no other effort to move from his current position laying on his back, eyes drifting closed and clothes uncharacteristically untidy. The brunette rolls his eyes, taking one final drag before flicking the butt away, watching it disappear into the dust and grass.

His eyes inevitably fall back onto Collins, whose loosened tie lies haphazardly across his rumpled shirt, most of the top buttons undone, and a collection of small purple bruises forming on the skin beneath. The blonde feels him looking and opens his eyes, levelling him with a smug grin and a quick wink before closing his eyes again, stretching out his body and releasing a happy sigh. It's almost as if there's not a war going on, the pair of them sitting up on the hill, Collins dozing lightly, Farrier watching the progression of the sunset over the horizon.

Though Collins has a bandage wrapped around his forearm from a nasty burn he'd sustained while messing around with an engine; a reminder of reality. Farrier had cackled when he'd first seen it, comparing the white gauze to Collins' pale skin. The latter had promptly hit him over the head with a textbook. But there had still been concern in Farrier's eyes, there'd still been the underlying message for the blonde to be more careful next time.

It was becoming more and more of an issue these days. With a war brewing in Central Europe, and the RAF rushing to send them out on more and more reconnaissance flights than any of them saw to be necessary, drilling the newest, most advanced combat tactics into their heads as often as they could; the blonde needed to learn to be a little less reckless. And god, Farrier is trying so hard to drum it into the blonde's head that when the war starts - and it will, of course it will - they might lose each other.

He's trying to force Collins to, just for once, drop his false optimism. Because Farrier knows he's not the free-spirited person he appears to be. Because Farrier hears the doubt seeping through. When they're out in flight and something goes wrong, he can hear the optimism fading away, to be replaced by a cynicism well fitted to the awful hand they've been so cruelly dealt.

If Farrier were a weaker man, maybe he would let Collins live in that world he's created. Where the war isn't happening, and one day the pair of them will retire with comfortable pensions to share. Where they'll live in some little cottage up in the Scottish Borders, living out a life as close to normal as they can get. But Farrier is selfish - and maybe by that, weak too - and he won't let Collins have that. Because it'll kill him, in the end. And Farrier's not sure that he'll be able to handle that.

Collins mumbles something from beside him, but he doesn't answer, too busy trapped in his mind, running over horrific scenario after another. The blonde doesn't take offence to this, but nor does he back down. Instead, he rolls closer to Farrier and sits up, trying to look serious despite the high concentration of dead grass in his hair. One of his hands circles Farrier's wrist, the other propping him up. He rests a cheek on Farrier's shoulder, eyes averted to look over at the horizon, counting the colours staining the sky from the dying sun.

"Where've you gone off to, Farrier?" Collins asks softly, eyes still cast out somewhere on the horizon. Farrier has to take a moment to inhale deeply, eyes closing as he tries to imprint this moment, memorising every aspect of it. The colours of the sky, the gradually dissipating smell of smoke, the feeling of Collins, pressed all warm and affectionate against him. A rare gift, a stolen moment they've managed to hide in. They might not get another moment like this, so Farrier prepares for the memory to sustain him through the coming months.

"Are you afraid?" Farrier asks, and Collins shifts slightly, more of his body leaning against Farrier's. Farrier takes the moment of silence to lace their fingers together, rubbing small circles into the back of Collins' hand, trying to memorise the feel of him, mentally counting the scars and indents he finds there; the ring on his middle finger pressing into Farrier's palm.

"Aye, I suppose I am," The response is too short, too forced, but Collins isn't finished yet. "Am certainly terrified of losing you." Collins turns his head now, looking up to meet Farrier's eyes. The pure honesty of it hits Farrier like a punch to his gut, and instead of responding immediately, he presses a kiss to Collins's forehead, their faces remaining close afterwards, sharing the same breath.

Farrier untangles their hands, his fingers running through Collins' thick hair - far too long now to be regulation - pulling out strands of dead grass with a small smile. His palm comes to a rest on Collins' jaw, moulding against the soft skin. Farrier finds himself inhaling sharply when Collins' head turns into the touch, pressing a gentle kiss to Farrier's palm before turning back to look at him, eyes warm and bright, so alive.

"What is it you're afraid of, Farrier?" Collins asks, shuffling closer somehow, his short, shallow breaths brushing over Farrier's cheeks. Farrier again finds himself trying to memorise everything, the shine of Collins' eyes, the orange glow of the dying sun setting his hair alight, the definition of his jaw where it rests under Farrier's fingers. One of Collins' hands comes up to rest atop Farrier's where it massages his jaw, clutching it lightly.

"Leaving you behind in this godforsaken place," Farrier replies, voice quiet. But they're so close Collins' hears him easily, a bittersweet smile passing over his face. "And of being left behind in it, myself." The expression on Collins' face shifts, and Farrier can't tell exactly what it changes to, but he realises there and then how far gone he is. The fear of leaving Collins behind is overwhelming, while the thought of watching the blonde's plane ignite and explode, returning to base without him, facing the massive hole in his life left behind: that haunts him.

"I won't make you a promise I cannae definitely keep," Collins says after a long moment of silence. And Farrier nods but he doesn't speak. He's not even sure he could if he wanted to. "That means nothin' an' I need this to mean somethin', Farrier." He speaks slowly, voice surprisingly calm. And Farrier just looks at him again, and wonders what he'd done to deserve him, what he'd done to deserve a moment as perfect as this one. Painfully finite though it may be, Farrier could die a happy man with this as his only memory; Collins the only thing on his mind.

"Then don't," Farrier replies before pausing, deciding his next words carefully. He sits up properly, both of his hands interlaced with Collins' in the blonde's lap, who has shifted into a similar position but ensured they remain close, not willing to put any distance between them. "Just promise you'll try," Farrier's eyes take a moment lift from where they're fixated on their interlocked fingers, the shine of his ring on Collins' middle finger making his gut twist. He looks straight at Collins, who doesn't back down, maintaining his gaze. "Please, just try and stay alive for me, Collins." The blonde doesn't answer at first, and after what feels like a lifetime, he answers, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

"There's no-one I'd rather stay alive for." The smile grows wider, and normally Farrier might reprimand the blonde for being such a sap. But he doesn't, because he needs this. And here, basking in the day's final, dying light, Farrier's ring on Collins' finger and pressed so close together; it only seems right, fitting. Farrier watches the subtle shift in Collins, watches his natural insecurity and paranoia seep back in, but can't think of the words to calm him.

So he kisses him instead, long and slow and sweet, everything he thinks it should be. Collins' cheeks are flushed when they part, and his eyelids are slightly drooped, leaning back in towards Farrier, looking for more. Farrier just laughs, allowing Collins to press a few kisses to his jaw and neck before disentangling their fingers and pushing him back to face him, hands resting forcefully on Collins' shoulders.

"I promise too," the smile Collins levels him with forces all the air from his lungs, and it's impossible not to smile right back at him. "I want to be here, with you, when this all ends." Collins laughs, happy and free, and kisses him, their respective smiles making it difficult, laughing against each other.

Collins pulls Farrier down on top of him, the latter grunting in surprise, and giving him a reprimanding look; Collins just laughs at him again. There's grass in his hair again where Farrier had taken it out, and his hands lift to cradle Farrier's head, humming lowly in thought for a long moment. Farrier studied him again, the brilliant smile on his face, the mess of his hair, the flush on his cheeks.

Whatever trials they'll face will be worth this, he decides.

"You better be, you bastard." Collins says finally, and Farrier laughs, sinking down to lay beside him on the ground, ignoring the scratch of the dry grass, and how ridiculous he'll look later with dead grass sticking out of his hair at all angles.

They stay there on the hill, watching the sun fall out of the sky, dark clouds filling the sky, a chill setting in. They'll have to leave soon, get back to base. And Farrier will have to take his ring back, pretend he doesn't see the loss on Collins' face when he does, pretend he doesn't feel the same.

But for now he drags out this moment for as long as he can, memorising Collins' warm body against his, and the tight feeling in his chest when he looks at him. His eyes remain fixed on the gradually darkening sky, the rumble of plane engines a distance murmur overcome by the rustle of the trees, and Collins' soft voice, singing to him lowly in Gaelic.

There's nothing better to stay alive for, he agrees silently.

_Nothing._

**Author's Note:**

> (This has been read through by me and me alone, any errors are my own, and if you spot any do let me know I can fix them!)


End file.
